


For Something Pretty

by nodere



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Backstory, Canon Era, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Canon, SHEITH - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 19:35:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8813536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nodere/pseuds/nodere
Summary: Shiro's eyeliner wasn't always perfect, and at some point he has to come to terms with himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [level_devil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/level_devil/gifts).



> Notes: I wrote this for a friend with some very specific ideas about what needed to be included in an exploration of Shiro's eyeliner. Part of the challenge was hitting every point. 
> 
> After reading other people's fic and head-canons - so many really great ideas! - we talked at length about Shiro's his self-perception, particularly with regard to body image, and how that might manifest. It was an interesting topic to explore, for sure, and I hope that I did the characters some justice here.

Shiro was sixteen when he asked Keith to pierce his ears.

Keith lounged on Shiro’s bed, reading the library’s battered copy of _The Aerodynamics of Flight_. He scratched his neck and rolled over onto his side, looking at his friend.

“Why?”

Shiro sat on the floor in front of the vanity mirror he’d borrowed from his mother’s bedroom, focused on applying his eyeliner, using both hands to get it just right. “I think it would complete my look.”

“What look? Your carefully crafted punk image? Please.” Keith’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

“You’re not helping.”

“You’ve spent the last,” he checked his watch, “almost 45 minutes doing your eyeliner. And I should add, just your eyeliner. Are we going out tonight or are _you_ going to spend the rest of the evening primping?”

“They’re not even.”

“What’s not?”

“My wings.”

Keith sighed and hopped off the bed. He held out his hand, “Give it to me.”

Shiro turned around and handed the eyeliner pen over. Keith sat down in front of him.

“Close your eyes.”

Shiro obeyed.  

Keith licked his thumb and wiped away the smudge at the corner of Shiro’s left eye. After a moment, he also did the same to the right.

“Hey!” Came Shiro’s protest, opening his eyes.

“You didn’t do it right.”

“But it took forever just to get it straight!”

“The wing should follow up from your lower lash line.”

“But my eyes don’t work like that.”

“Trust me, it’ll look better.”

Shiro huffed through his nose, glared at Keith for a moment and shut his eyes again. Sometimes he found himself wishing he were more like his friend: small, slender, graceful. Keith would probably kill him if he called him pretty, but Keith was that too. And his hair was so soft. Not that Shiro would ever admit it, but he secretly relished those accidental moments where his friend’s mop of wavy hair brushed against his skin.

Shiro had been trying to grow his hair out but had made little progress, mostly because his mother kept insisting on trimming it. His hair was thick, coarse, and very straight. Its current state was slightly outgrown undercut where everything on the sides had to be waxed and blow-dried to stay down. It was, needless to say, awkward, like everything else about being a teenager.

His body was changing. It happened to everyone. He could accept that much, but what he struggled with were the expectations. That he should like particular things or behave in particular ways because of race, sex, and gender was becoming more and more apparent. The idea, for instance, that he should be into sports because he was tall and looked athletic. He dreaded the inevitable. He was, after all, only sixteen and potentially had another four to five years of growing ahead of him. He would only get bigger and taller. He didn’t want to think about that.

Keith grabbed his chin to steady his face and carefully drew Shiro’s eyeliner on one eyelid for him. “Okay. Done.”

“I thought you were going to do both!”

Keith rolled his eyes and held the mirror up to Shiro’s face. “See how that looks? It follows the contour of your eye.”

Shiro admired Keith’s handiwork. He had to admit it did look better. “How did you know how to do that?”

“Three weeks ago you made me watch eye makeup tutorials with you for five straight hours, because, and I quote, ‘I wish everyone would stop saying I look tired and bored all the time!’ How did you _not_ remember?”

Shiro’s gaze shifted to the floor. It was a valid point.

Keith held out the liner pen for him. “Your turn, and then can we go?”

+++

After a couple years of being the not-so-rebellious teen who always called his mother if he was going to be late, with ripped jeans, graphic tees, combat boots, studded bracelets, piercings, bad hair, and always perfect eyeliner; Shiro had enrolled in the Galaxy Garrison Space Flight Program. He’d passed the entrance exam. He was going to become a pilot. He was 18 years old.

“What are you doing?” Matt peered over Shiro’s shoulder, watching his reflection in the mirror.

“Getting ready.” Shiro tugged on his asymmetrical hoodie and belted his skinny jeans. He walked over to the sink and rooted through his dopp kit. He’d had to leave a lot of things at home, but had somehow managed to get his eyeliner past his mother’s watchful eye.

“Are you for real?”

Shiro drew his eyeliner on deftly. He’d gotten good at it and was fast with practice. “What do you mean?”

“Am I really waiting for you to put on makeup just so we can go get a burger?”

“Yeah, is that a problem?”

“Maybe.”

Shiro sat down and tugged his boots on. “Why?” He braced himself for the response.

Matt shrugged. “Because I’m hungry. And besides, you always look good. You could go out in baggy sweats and still be a model of masculine appeal. _You_ do not need makeup.”

Shiro cringed. Matt Holt was his second roommate. His first had washed out after a month. They’d hardly spoken to each other, so it wasn’t any real loss. Matt had been in the hospital with pneumonia since before the start of the semester and had a lot of catching up to do.

Shiro was an ideal student. Of course he would help.

Matt was the best roommate Shiro could have asked for. He had personal space and private time, but also someone to talk to. Though sometimes Matt talked a little too much, there was always some new story or gossip to share.

He was also a good friend and that almost made up for how much Shiro missed Keith. Almost. But so long as Keith didn’t bomb the written exam, and Shiro legitimately feared he might, he’d be at the Garrison next fall.

“What if I don’t want to be?”

Matt clapped him on the back, “Sucks to be you then, handsome. Come on, maybe we’ll meet some girls. Elsie and her friends might be going. I know that tall brunette is really into you.”

Shiro made an effort to keep his shoulders from falling. He considered backing out, but it had been his idea in the first place. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Elsie, she was really sweet, but he wasn’t inclined to spend his evening deflecting advances when he just wasn’t interested.

+++

At the end of October, Shiro convinced Keith to take the bus out to the Garrison for the weekend. He didn’t have a date for the Halloween party downtown, there just hadn’t been anyone he wanted to ask, but everyone was going and everyone else seemed to have a date. So maybe Keith would be his friend-date, but, of course, he hadn’t asked him yet.

When he did, Keith didn’t say no.

He didn’t exactly say yes either, but he went along with it.

“So do we need costumes for this event?”

“Well, I was wondering…” Shiro’s voice trailed off. He’d thought he’d had a really good idea, but now, looking at Keith, sitting next to him on his bed, he wasn’t sure it was so great after all.

“You hesitated. Come on, spit it out.”

“The costume shop downtown has these 1920s outfits. I thought we could maybe rent some.”

“Go on.”

Shiro mumbled under his breath.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“I don’t fit in any of the dresses,” Shiro said, a little more clearly, just above a whisper.

“Okay… I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“It’s my shoulders. They’re too broad.” Shiro slumped beside him.

Keith’s eyes narrowed. “Ooooooh. You’re going to ask me to wear the dress, aren’t you?”

“Will you?” Shiro’s face brightened hopefully.

Keith shrugged. “It’s a costume party, why not?”

Shiro hugged him.

Keith had brought things from home that Shiro had asked for, specifically the contents of his bathroom; all kinds of makeup, face creams, lotions, fragrances, masks, exfoliants, at least five different shampoos and conditioners, and a plethora of other products. Keith had stuffed as much as would fit into his duffel bag, and it wasn’t nearly everything. Shiro did not ask him how he had managed to get it out of his mother’s house.

Keith grudgingly allowed Shiro to make him up. They borrowed a flat iron and hot rollers from Elsie so Shiro could style Keith’s hair and pin it up.

When they went to pick out costumes, Shiro chose a low-cut red dress for Keith and a stiff white suit for himself.

“You cut a fine figure.” Keith remarked, cocking a hip and dropping a shoulder in sharp contrapposto.

Shiro grunted acknowledgement. “And you are downright-,” he had to come up with a word that wasn’t ‘ _pretty_ ’, “fierce.”

“I don’t think I want that word applied to me like that. I look ridiculous.”

“Can I just appreciate the fact that you're really nice to look at?” Shiro blurted out, knowing as soon as the words had left his mouth that they had come out sharp. He needed to calm down. He hadn’t seen Keith in what, three whole months? It had been too long, but perhaps the costume shop was not a good place to have this conversation.

“Shiro.” Keith’s stare was hard and level, visible strain at his temple. “I’m not sure we should do this.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think you’re jealous of me for whatever reason and I don’t like that.”

“I don’t either.”

“But you’re not denying it.”

Shiro scuffed his foot against the floor and stared at a rack of creature costumes. Gorgons and genies and… He stopped.

“I look like a dude wearing makeup and a dress. I don’t know what there is to envy here.” Keith gestured to himself.

Shiro looked at him again, this time with obvious appraisal. His shoulders rose then fell. “You look pretty. Not drop dead gorgeous, or beautiful or handsome, just pretty.” He paused, taking in Keith’s expression, “But not when you make that face.”

Keith’s face went slack as he sighed. “I’m fairly certain you’re not trying to offend me, so I’m going to try very hard to not be offended. I’m happy to swap, or wear something else. I know you want to be the one in these shoes.” Keith stuck out one well-defined leg in black nylons with a red stilettoed foot.

Of course Shiro did, but he thought his feet were too big, his shoulders too broad, his jaw too square, and his hands enormous. “I think we’re fine. Can we just go?”

“If I twist my ankle, fall in a ditch, or otherwise damage myself because I’m wearing these things, I will hurt you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Shiro offered his arm, but Keith ignored the gesture.

As it turned out, Keith was fine. He needed no assistance navigating the floor or the stairs in those shoes, making the rounds with poise and ease. He also needed no help introducing himself to and flirting with nearly all of Shiro’s classmates, including Matt and Matt’s current girlfriend to Shiro’s chagrin. He even chatted up the instructors. It wasn’t often that Shiro was able to see this side of Keith. Next to him, Shiro felt oafish, bumbling, and awkward. He hated feeling like this. Why wasn’t he the one exuding confidence? He knew these people. It should have been him.

Shiro took the opportunity to escape when Keith went looking for something to drink. It was painful fielding the questions everyone seemed to have and hard to sneak away. _He’s my best friend._ He needed to clear his head and stole away outside. His feelings were complicated and confused. He wanted to be pretty, and if he couldn’t have that, he’d bring pretty along with him. He wanted to be graceful, and elegant, and he wanted all of that to be an extension of himself. It wasn't so much discomfort with his size and body as it was the simple fact that those were not qualities of being ‘pretty.’ He didn't want to be anyone other than himself, but sometimes he wasn't sure who he actually was.

At one point, he had considered surgery, but that was expensive and always carried risks. Besides, where would he start and where would he stop? For a brief moment, he was again that sixteen-year-old boy who was constantly being asked if he was sleepy or assumed to not be paying attention because of his eyes. It had started with his eyeliner. If he only did his eyelids, would that even change the way he felt about how he was perceived? Would it change the perception to something positive? Would that make him happy? Or. Would he feel like he had betrayed himself? He hated the notion that some people would view it as wanting to look western and that certainly was not the case.

He slouched on a bench, trying to look smaller, but immediately sat up straight again, recalling nearly every single time Keith had come up behind him and smacked him on the back with a very firm, “Sit up straight.” Little Keith Kogane as the posture police. He almost laughed. He also realized, for the first time that night, that in those red high-heeled shoes, Keith was almost as tall as he was. Maybe that meant he wasn’t so big after all, and he wondered if what he was feeling had a lot to do with exaggerated self-perception. Not that that made it any better. It did not.

Upon his return to the party, he found Keith in the middle of a game of poker that he somehow seemed to be winning, the prize being M&Ms and a gift card to some local store chain. Without much thought, he quietly crept behind him and whispered in his most sensually modulated voice, “Hey Baby, whatcha doing tonight?”

Without missing a beat, Keith grabbed Shiro by the tie and yanked him forward, danger flashing in his eyes. “Never again, _baby_.” he said firmly, before letting him go.

Shiro had meant it as a joke, but the moment was raw and something he’d done, probably a lot of things he’d done, had annoyed Keith.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“You disappeared.”

“You left me.”

“To get something to drink. And what is even wrong with you? You’ve been off all night. When you left, I decided to make sure that every single person here sees my face and remembers it when I try my best not to fail that entrance exam that I haven't started studying for in another 6 months. Didn't you say some of the tests are administered by students?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then.”

And that was the end of it.

Keith leaned back, closer to him, never taking his eyes off the table. “Pull up a chair, I'm going to clean house.” He flashed Shiro his cards.

Shiro sat beside his friend to watch the rest of the game.

They returned the costumes at the end of the night and went back to Shiro’s dorm room, where they fell asleep, squeezed together side by side in Shiro’s bunk.

Keith gave him the gift card and kept the M&Ms.

+++

Shiro’s mother had insisted Keith come stay with them the summer before his first semester at the Garrison. He’d had an inconvenient birthday and needed a place for just a few months, as he was no longer a ward of the state and suddenly required to fend for himself. Ms. Shirogane fed him and gave him a place to sleep. He tried to pay her rent with his earnings at the restaurant where he worked, but she always put the money back on his dresser the next day. When August finally came around, Shiro’s mother packed up her boys and drove them off to school.

Shiro reached out and ran his hand through Keith’s cropped hair. “Never let my mom cut your hair again.”

“What?” Keith shook out his head. “It feels so good though. It’s so much lighter.”

“No,” he said firmly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“That’s because you’ve never seen me with an undercut. You’re just not used to it.”

They were in Shiro’s dorm room, which he still shared with Matt. Shiro nodded. “I’m not. You’re lucky you have such nice hair.”

“Lucky? It’s hair, Shiro.”

“Yeah. I guess. But when it’s long, you can actually do stuff with it. Even though you never do. Mine’s just heavy and straight.”

“Your hair is nice, too. You should have someone cut it that isn’t your mom. Maybe that would help. Find a good barber or something.”

“Maybe a stylist.”

“Or that. Sure.” Keith yawned. “What did you have in mind to do tonight? You said there was something you needed help with?” He leaned his head on Shiro’s shoulder and Shiro wrapped an arm around him.

He smelled good. Shiro pressed his cheek to Keith’s head, pausing a moment in thought. To be fair, his hair was still very soft. When had they grown this close? He didn’t know. It didn’t really matter, either.

“Shiro?”

“Mmm?”

“The thing? You asked me to help you with? If not, I have homework.”

“Oh yeah. I want to make a beauty vlog.”

“You should! It’s a great idea!” Keith didn’t move from his shoulder.

“Yeah, but I don’t have the right face for it. So I was wondering if you’d be my model.”

The silence was heavy and immense.

“Keith?”

“No.”

“Please?

Keith sat up, “Shiro no. Just use yourself.”

Shiro bit his lip, “But Keith, you have such a good face for it.”

Keith sat up to look at him, placing a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, running his thumb over the end of Shiro’s clavicle, “Shiro, I really think that you should use yourself. Make it about you. Makeup is transformational and self-care is for everyone. Isn’t that the point? You do you so well.”

“I guess, but I’m just so-”

“So what? Shiro, you’re smart, talented, kind, generous, funny. Oh, and since you haven’t seemed to notice, you’re extremely attractive. Everything about you is so fucking perfect if you weren’t my friend, it’d make me sick. You have both upperclassmen and underclassmen practically lining up just to see _your face_ after every single run in the simulator. I can’t imagine what would happen if you decided to start dating.”

Shiro wondered how they’d gone from video blogging to dating. Who would he date? Who would even want to date him? Apparently everybody, according to Keith, but he didn’t think he was any of those things. “Do you want to date someone?”

Keith looked at him, squinting a little, then shrugged and settled his head back on Shiro’s shoulder.

Shiro’s vlog was a success, measureable in subscribers and likes. As Keith had pointed out, makeup was transformational.

+++

Shiro never imagined he would find himself floating in a figurative tin can somewhere out in deep space with his best friend lover, a few Garrison cadets, and two extraterrestrials, but a year long stint with an alien race, some shenanigans involving magical mechanical lions, and a giant robot, and here he was.

He was sitting in his room, in the dark, back up against the side of his bed, fingering the woven fabric of his vest with both of his hands, comparing the sensation of touch and texture. He had always appreciated textures. He loved fine and well-made things.

Touch was not the same with his prosthesis, and he could no longer smell very well, blame both of those on the Galra. The last round he had ever fought in the arena had been the worst. He had been at day three with no food, drink, or sleep, and his reflexes just hadn’t been fast enough. He’d put his arm up to protect his face, an instinctive reaction, and his opponent’s blade had gone right through it, lodging itself in his skull, right across the bridge of his nose. He was lucky it had missed his eyes and he could still see. He was lucky to be alive. He was just plain lucky, and he should be grateful.

But being grateful was hard.

For the most part, he was doing okay. He was keeping himself together somehow. He turned and looked up at the lump under the blankets that was Keith. _That_ might be part of it. He smiled.

Shiro ran his hands through his hair and stretched. The prosthetic hand perfectly mirrored the other in size and shape. It was stronger than his other hand, impervious to just about everything, and never tired.

He despised it.

He lay his head down on his knees and wrapped his arms around his legs. At some point he’d grown to be okay with himself, liked himself even. Blame a video blog about transforming yourself through makeup, self-care, and sheer will. Then he was abducted by aliens, and now he wondered if being okay with himself could ever again be a possibility. At first, it had been a physical revulsion, only associated with the scars on his flesh and his missing arm, but the more memories he was able to recover from his time spent in the Galra prisons, the more he grew to hate the person he was. While he knew all of it had been beyond his control he couldn’t help but blame himself. Only he was responsible for his actions and if nothing else, Shiro knew when to take responsibility. Mending all of that would take some real work. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to do it.

He hadn’t noticed Keith get out of bed and nearly jumped when he felt his hand on his shoulder.

“You doing all right?” Keith rubbed Shiro’s back.

Bad question but meant well. “Yeah.” No, he really wasn’t.

“That’s definitely a no. Wanna talk about it?” Keith put his arms around him and held him.

“I want my eyeliner.”

“I know.” Keith laid his head on Shiro’s shoulder as he hugged him.

“You do?”

“Mmmhmm,” Keith hummed. “That robeast had you in rare form today.”

Shiro lifted his head up to look at Keith, lips pursed.

“Like, you _knew_ it.”

“I did. Do you know what the robeasts are?”

Keith hesitated, “Uh, monster fighting machines sent by the Galra Empire?”

“Yes, but where they come from? How they are created?”

Keith shook his head.

“So, in the prison, all of the prisoners of a certain age, health, and build are required to fight in the arena for sport. Essentially, we’re Gladiators. And the ‘reward’ for winning, for becoming the champion, is to be ‘reborn’ as an elite warrior.”

Keith’s eyes were wide. He could put two and two together. “For the glory of the Galra Empire.”

Shiro straightened up, repeating in mockery, “For the glory of the Galra Empire.” He slammed his fist into his chest over his heart, “Vrepit Sa!” He sank back against Keith, forehead pressed again to his knees. Keith squeezed him tight.

There was a soft knock at the door. Shiro didn’t move.

“I’ll see who it is.” Keith extracted himself from the floor and slipped on his pants before going to the door.

“Shiro?” Lance called quietly from the other side.

Keith opened it. Lance blinked a few times and stood on his toes to see in past him. “Shiro?” Lance asked again, completely ignoring Keith.

“What do you want?” Keith asked.

“None of your business, Mullet.”

“Actually, right now it is.” He glared at Lance. “What. Do. You. Want?”

“I want to talk to Shiro. Is he in there?” Lance tried to look around him again.

“Now’s not a good time.”

“You’re in my way.”

“Good.”

Shiro’s voice came from within, calm and collected. “No it’s fine. What’s going on, Lance?”

Keith let him through, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

Shiro reached over to the wall and turned on a light before tugging his shirt on over his head.

“Well,” Lance began, tentatively, glancing at Keith before addressing Shiro again, “I actually came over to check on you.”

Shiro looked at him, eyes wide with surprise.  

Lance blinked. “Yeah, so this afternoon, ya know, when we were doing our thing, saving the universe, you seemed to be having some-”

“I should probably go.” Keith interrupted, scanning the floor for his shirt.

“No, stay.” Shiro commanded. “Go on, Lance.”

Lance considered his words and started again, “My oldest sister is a professional makeup artist. She works out in California, does, like, movies and stuff-”

“Actually, I really should go.” Keith pulled his shirt on and jammed his feet into his boots.

“No. Keith, please?” Shiro asked, discomfort evident in his tone.

“Look, I’ll come right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Shiro and Lance looked at each other, brows raised as Keith slipped out of the room.

“Paladin bond.” Shiro said flatly, after several minutes of silence.

Lance nodded. “Look, I know it’s none of my business-”

“That it is.” Shiro cut him off. He didn’t want to talk about it and he especially didn’t want to think about how the other paladins might now be judging him. He’d somehow managed to get through the garrison on “eccentric.” He could do military drag five days a week. He’d done it very well, in fact. He’d somehow gotten to a point where looking good made him feel good. Even if looking good didn’t necessarily mean he was pretty.

Before he left for Kerberos, he was wearing makeup every day. It was subtle: curling his lashes, filling in the gaps and tightlining with brown pencil, and then using the liner pen as mascara. He had learned how to intensify his face without getting into the social stigma of being a man and wearing noticeable makeup, and it helped his self-confidence immensely.

At present, however, he was a mess. It was difficult for him to even so much as look at himself. He could cover the scars on his body, but not the one on his face.

“It important to you though. Look, I know this is going to sound stupid, but we’re a team, and we need to look out for each other. It doesn’t matter how you choose to present yourself. We’re with you. Me, Pidge, Hunk,” he pointed his thumb toward the door, “and probably _that guy_ too.”

Shiro let out his breath, relieved. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding it, but now that he did, his lungs hurt. “Lance, I appreciate your concern. I really do. Thank you.” Shiro held his hands up. “But, this is me. There’s nothing more to it.”

They both turned to the sound of footsteps heading toward the room. It was Keith, who shut the door behind him when he entered and handed a bag to Shiro. “This was going to be your birthday present.”

Lance leaned over to watch as Shiro dumped the contents out on his bed.

Keith scratched the back of his head. “Sorry. It’s the best I could do.”

Shiro and Lance stared at the pile of colored pots and vials for several long moments before Shiro started organizing them by contents, color, and potential use. Keith had somehow managed to amass a goldmine of galactic makeup and had been collecting it especially for him. “How…” his voice cracked and he shut his mouth. He held a small jar up, the crystalline powder catching the light.

“We haven’t had a lot of down time outside of the ship. I tried asking the mice, but Alteans don’t seem to wear makeup.”

“Where did you find this?” Lance asked, genuinely curious.

“Lots of places. The first was right before we left for Krell to look for that Yalexian pearl-”

“Wait.” Lance looked scandalized. “I thought we were waiting for you to take a dump and you were really off buying makeup for Shiro?”

Keith narrowed his eyes, “For the record, I am never eating at the Fripping Bulgogian again.”

“How did you even get any money?”

Keith shrugged. “Don’t you make sure you have cash on hand if you’re going out?”

Lance blinked.

Shiro was thoroughly engrossed in the selection Keith had brought him.

Keith took some brushes out of his back pocket and handed them to Shiro. “I almost forgot.”  

Shiro took them from him and looked at each one, pressing each soft tip between his fingers before flinging his arms around Keith and enveloping him in a very tight embrace. “Thank you.”

“Just see if it will work before you thank me.”

Lance was comparing colors to his own skin tone and further organizing each pile Shiro had made. He grabbed a few and held them up to Shiro’s face as Shiro went back to the dark colors, every so often holding one up to the light and putting it back or holding onto it.

“Hey Shiro,” Lance asked.

“Yeah?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with gender, does it?”

“No, not really.”

Lance hesitated a moment, “Can I do your makeup?”

Shiro blinked in surprise. Keith looked from one to the other.

“Yeah, sure.”

“What am I going for?” Lance asked

“Pretty.” Shiro replied. “I just want to be pretty.”


End file.
